


Breathe

by gaialux



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Breathplay, Dirty Talk, M/M, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-18 22:30:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9405722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaialux/pseuds/gaialux
Summary: "Don't breathe."





	

_"Don't breathe."_

Dean whispers the words against Sam's ear the moment they leave the motel room. At first Sam has no idea what Dean means, but Dean raises a hand and lightly presses it against Sam's throat. Lightning fast on the crowded street.

"Don't breathe," Dean says again, his own breath brushing across Sam's neck.

Sam stops breathing, just to see a particular smile on Dean's face. Satisfied, awed, probably even some other emotions Sam has yet to decipher and file. He'll do it one day; he has forever to get it done.

"Now," Dean says. He's keeping his voice low, his mouth close to Sam. "Follow what I say, okay?"

Sam nods. He already needs to breathe again and it's only been a few seconds. Twenty, maybe. Less than an average person can hold their breath, Sam knows that random fact from somewhere. Definitely less than Sam can, because he's been buried alive before; trained by Dad for every possible scenario.

"Good," Dean says. He slips his hand into Sam's and nobody looks. Nobody pays attention. Nobody knows they're brothers.

Dean keeps speaking: "When I squeeze, you breathe in." Dean squeezes, Sam does exactly what he's supposed to. "When I let go, you breathe out." Dean loosens his grip and Sam lets the air out in a _woosh_ , but he doesn't take any in. Not one molecule.

"Perfect, Sammy," Dean says. He squeezes again, Sam breathes in, then the pressure on Sam's hand is steady.

They keep walking, hand in hand, and they're _normal_. Nobody even looks, but Sam's still paranoid. It shows, doesn't it? That they're brothers? It's almost like he has it written on his forehead: I'm fucking my big brother.

Another release of Dean's hand. Sam doesn't even have to pay attention for his brain to catch on, his mouth to open and let out air but never take any back in. Dean's lips brush over his throat, hand squeezes. Sam takes in more air.

"We gotta go to the library," Dean says, blasé. Same tone as he always uses when they're on hunts, need to research. It’s a voice that’s matter-of-fact, and maybe a little bored. Sam's trying to swallow back the need to breathe. "See if we can get our hands on the history of those houses."

It's only been a few seconds, maybe half a minute, but holding his breath without his brain understanding _why_ is harder than he thought. His own hand digs into Dean's, trying to fight his body. "Dean," he chokes. "Can't."

Dean looks him in the eye, but it's another agonising minute (or so it feels like -- rationale tells him it's less two seconds) before Dean's squeezing his hand. Sam sucks in air, loud, sure the people passing them by can see. Then Dean releases and he let's it out again, audible _woosh_. Dean repeats it until Sam's breathing normally again and he thinks that's the end of it. He moves closer to Dean presses his face against Dean's hair. Dean's hand has stopped and Sam breathes in on his own until Dean gives a sharp, "No."

Sam stops.

"Not until we get back to the motel."

That could be hours. He's about to protest, but something keeps him from saying a word. He continues to hold his breath, to hold Dean's hand, and to look at the people they pass who _don't even care._ Maybe they can do this thing. Maybe they can make it work. But first Sam needs to _breathe_.

Dean knows. Releases, squeezes. And they keep going like that all the way to the library, Sam feeling like his chest and nose are going to explode, but he never breathes. Never takes in one breathe on his own. Just allows Dean to control it, and Dean always makes sure it doesn't go too far.

Just before they step inside the library, Dean wraps a hand around Sam's neck, still not breaking the hold of their hands, and whispers against his lips "breathe if you can". Sam manages half a mouthful of air before Dean's kissing him, sealing off his mouth. The arm around his neck draws tighter, tighter, and there's white spots dancing in front of Sam’s eyes. Joined now, he realises, by his growing cock as Dean palms the front of his jeans. Then Dean pulls back, much too soon and not soon enough. His hand tells Sam he can breathe, and then that he has to stop.

They walk inside, Dean sauntering up to the desk -- at least as much as one can saunter when holding hands with someone else -- and grins at the woman sitting behind. "I was wondering if…”

And it trails off. In Sam’s mind; he can’t grasp the words and his hearing grows hazy. He takes another breath. Dean squeezes hard.

The librarian speaks. Her lips move. Sam is swimming underwater and the surface grows dark.

“Breathe.”

They’re walking again. Sam sucks in cool air and relishes in every single breath he manages. Dean doesn’t tell him to stop. Dean isn’t even looking at him. But Sam’s cock is full length now and throbbing against his jeans.

“Dean,” he murmurs. With no response he tries a louder, “Dean.”

“Shush, Sam,” he says with a hiss. “We have a case to investigate.”

He’s teasing and Sam knows it. He has enough oxygen in his brain to put two-and-two together. _He_ does the hand squeezing this time. Dean pulls them apart.

“You listen to me, Sammy,” Dean says. Lethal with a glint of cheek in his eyes. “And I’ll take care of you. Don’t? Then, well…”

He trails off and keeps walking. Sam follows. Like a lost puppy looking for a treat. He wonders if those soft, begging eyes would get him anywhere. Back to the motel, naked, spread out with Dean’s fingers inside him--

“Here.” _Thunk._

They’ve stopped at a table and Dean drops a heavy stack of newspapers on its surface. Sam blinks. Has he even still been breathing?

“Do what you do best, geek boy,” Dean says. He sits. “And don’t breathe.”

Sam obeys.

He doesn’t last long before the textbook's words begin spinning.

“Dean,” he chokes out.

“Give me one new piece of information,” Dean says. He slides in close and presses his fingertips into the top of Sam’s thigh. His cock aches.

“The guy,” Sam says. He has to draw in breath. “He was a professor. Archaeology.”

“Good,” Dean says. His hand moves up until it’s a ghost over Sam’s cock. It keens to the touch. Wants more and more. Sam doesn’t even care that they’re in a library. It’s almost empty anyway.

“We should find a book on archaeology,” Dean says.

“Why do--”

Dean gives him a  _ look _ . One that sends a shiver out over every inch of Sam’s body. The one he first gave years ago before they fell into bed together and life was never the same again. Sam stands. Sam follows.

As soon as they’re behind the safety of a back bookcase, Dean pounces. His lips on Sam’s and it takes Sam a couple of milliseconds to get with the program. To kiss back. To taste Dean on his lips, his tongue, his entire  _ body _ .

He feels like a horny teenager again. Only this kind of stuff only took place in his sixteen-year-old-self’s fantasies.

“Fuck, Sam,” Dean says. He hardly pulls away. “You really are hard, aren’t you?”

Sam’s response is more a whine than a  _ yes _ , but Dean seems to get the idea and doesn’t judge. His hand goes down the front of Sam’s jeans and to the sweet spot Sam’s been craving since the early afternoon.

“Mmm,” is all he can get out.

“You like that?” Dean’s full of questions. Sam’s just glad they don’t require thought and the single answer is a constant litany of  _ yes, yes, yes _ with maybe a  _ fuck yes _ thrown in if he’s feeling fancy. “Know you do. But don’t breathe, Sammy, just feel it.”

Not breathing has become second nature in just a few short hours.

The feeling is stronger. More focused. Every crevice and touch of dry skin on Dean’s hand brings out a different sensation. Sam finds himself shivering and the outside world fading. Everything is  _ Dean  _ and that’s just the way Sam likes it.

“Are you gonna come for me, Sammy?” Dean asks.

_ Yes. God, yes. _

Sam comes and he can’t hold back the harsh intake of air as come drips from his cock. Dean keeps working him through it. Squeezing, twisting; attuned to just the way Sam likes it. He never says stop. It never gets too much. Dean is perfect, he’s--

“Are you alright back there?”

They both jump at the voice. Sam yanks his pants back up and sees Dean readjust. It does nothing to hide the bulge.

“Yeah!” Dean calls back. Sam is still too far gone for words. “Just...just looking for the archaeology section.”

It’s woman from the receptionist desk. She peaks through the shelf. Sam hopes she hasn’t seen anything -- he can’t read her face and decides that’s a good thing.

“It’s about three aisles that way.” She points left.

“Thanks,” Dean says with a curt nod. “We’ll get right to that.”

He drags Sam away and, once they’re safely hidden behind the books once again, it’s Sam’s turn to whisper.

“Wait until we get back to the motel.”

They doesn’t last another second in the library.


End file.
